


I Know It's so Wrong, but I'm so Far Gone

by Waynesgrayson



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Dark!Matt, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Minor Blood Gore and Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-17
Updated: 2018-02-17
Packaged: 2019-03-20 05:31:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,062
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13710879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Waynesgrayson/pseuds/Waynesgrayson
Summary: Matt is whispering prose against his skin with a bite that's all too tempting.





	I Know It's so Wrong, but I'm so Far Gone

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [let us say the devil is played by two men](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3959428) by [Handful_of_Silence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Handful_of_Silence/pseuds/Handful_of_Silence). 



> Title taken from: What's Wrong by PVRIS
> 
> this is inspired by the first daredevil fanfic i've read in a long while and YO ur fanfic was so bomb i had to come back and immediately write D!M again like thank you, honestly. this was fun to do.

At first Foggy believes he's saving Matt. The way Matt's fingers dig into his arms and how blood spills out of his mouth as he shakes with pain. The veins in his temples popping out, face screwed up in an expression that makes Foggy's blood run cold with fear.

It's a cry for help that Foggy can't ignore.

So he does the same. Digs his fingers and faith into Matt with an intensity that sometimes feels wrong. And while it makes his throat thick and chest tight with emotion, Foggy knows he'll be there until the terrible end.

But on nights like this one, he finds it very difficult to ignore the hopeless feeling in his chest. The way his heart beats frantically as he tries to stitch gouges that seem to never stop bleeding. The sound of a whisky bottle dropping heavily into the bathtub. The smell of it on Matt's breath as he drops his head into the curve of Foggy's neck, eyes glassy. Foggy's hands trembling long after the work is done and Matt is whispering nonsense into the air, a silver needle pinched so tightly between two fingers Foggy feels the indent for a long time after he finally lets go.

:i:

The Devil is charming, his smile sharp, and Foggy thinks he's going to go out of his mind. Matt is whispering prose against his skin with a bite that's all too tempting. Foggy finds himself wanting to give in more than he should, the sensation like finding breath for the first time.

But sometimes, when the words are too close to sounding like the ones Matt whispers at night to his God, Foggy can only imagine the crinkles around Matt's eyes when he laughs and the feel of his silk ties between Foggy's fingers. Leather is rough and seductive and Foggy is addicted to the way it makes him feel as it moves under his hands. So sure and with purpose. The man wearing it like a natural extension of himself. A focus so unlike anything Foggy as ever experienced outside of Matt. Making it feel so brand new. White hot and hitting every single one of Foggy's weak spots.

Foggy has always found Matt attractive. The slow curl of his lips in court. How he throws his head back when he laughs. The fluff of his hair. Steady hands on Foggy's skin making him vibrate in anticipation. The slow part of his lips, the meaning unmistakable when paired with the slow tilt of his head. A look of knowing.

Foggy loves the suits and all Matt can do while wearing one. Loves the sweatpants and bare torso and the way Matt's knuckles leave red imprints on a punching bag. But the leather was something Foggy couldn't explain.

At first, he only knew what it was like to peel Matt out of it so he could nurture Matt. Something, when Matt was torn in two, he wanted to burn with an intensity that made his chest burn and Matt whimper against his neck.

But the way his back feels against the bricks of an abandon building shouldn't be exciting. Nor should Matt towering over him with an energy that promised the holiest of sins.

Especially when in a few hours he'll pick Matt's bloodied body off their living room floor. The small drop from their window too much after everything he's been through that night. And Matt won't acknowledge what's happened let alone Foggy trying desperately to stop the bleeding while trying not to cry. The feel of the leather between his thighs will be nothing but a memory that leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Yet he'll cling to it for the rest of the the night as he watches Matt breath, praying to Matt's God that he'll make it to sunrise.

So he pretends it's all Matt. That there's no facade between them. That there is no Devil. Can't be. Not when he closes his eyes and Matt's stubble scratches his skin like it does when he kisses Foggy's cheek good morning.

It's so fucking easy.

In moments like these, where the lines feel blurred and the polluted night sky somehow looks like a masterpiece, the halo of light from the church across the street doesn't feel so sinful as the man and monster Foggy loves make his eyes roll back with pleasure

:i:

Matt's feet are bare. Foggy sits outside the ring pretending to read the book he brought. The light is shit anyways. Dim for no other reason than Matt doesn't need them to be bright and Foggy doesn't know why he though he wouldn't be distracted by the way Matt moves about the ring.

Matt's also shirtless now. Threw it off with a huff and a shake of his head that sent sweat flying in all directions before hitting into the punching bag with ruthlessness.

It's put all of the scars on Matt's body on perfect display. More fitting now than at home in their mundane background.

Some are faded and white. Ones Foggy knows he has run his fingers over a million times. Too many are red. Dark and bright. Fading and brand fucking new and Foggy knows they hurt like a bitch. Was the one who got a closeup of them just a couple of nights ago in every way.

But the mixture of Matt's gracefulness and viciousness is just breathtaking enough to distract Foggy from all of it. The way he moves, curves, bulges. The grunts through clenches teeth.

Foggy raises an eyebrow when Matt suddenly stops and a wild, breathless smile replaces the snarl.

“You gotta stop,” Matt pants, and Foggy huffs out a laugh. Only a little ashamed to be caught lusting after his husband.

“I can't help myself,” He defends. “You're making it very difficult to keep myself in check.”

“Well, you're making it very difficult for me to concentrate.”

Foggy sighs as if they're at a standstill. “Then what do you suggest we do about this?”

Foggy knew nothing was impossible when it came to Matt. Almost painfully aware. The world a harsh and cruel ally but an ally to Matt all the same. It seems to be that way with people it broke the mould with. But when Matt's smile curls up even higher, paired with bright red wounds and the dim lights of the gym, Foggy knows that they're both no longer alone.

:i:

The rain is coming down in sheets, but their silence is deafening. Matt is on one knee with his arms outstretched. Palms to the heavens. Waiting.

Foggy wants to. Wants to so damn much but all he can do is stand frozen, staring down at Matt as the violent rain cleanses him of the blood soaking him from head to toe. The bodies surrounding them are the opposite, a never ending stream of gore Foggy can barely handle.

That hopeless feeling in his chest is overwhelming. It turns out Matt doesn't need to be saved.

This is Matt's own doing, his own path and Foggy got picked up in the whirlwind – Matt unwilling to let go. Foggy unwilling to let go. Foggy knew. Since the day he pulled back the mask and found his partner's face. Deceptively angelic in unconsciousness while the Devil lurked underneath.

Since the day Foggy said yes.

And if Foggy was having difficulty, they both should have known it was only a matter of time before Matt wouldn't be able to separate himself.

Happy anniversary to them.

:i:

Loving the Devil is a revelation.

Foggy doesn't go to sleep after Matt leaves for patrol that night. There's a strain they can't quite get themselves to talk about. So he stays awake and sits in a silence that taunts him.

One the one hand, Foggy had been in trouble. Matt saved him. Simple as that. But it hadn't been Matt that night, nor any of those nights before. And Foggy found the lines between the two more indistinguishable then ever before. Every night spent with the man in the mask was Matt. But it wasn't Matt.

But it was it wasn't it was it wasn't it was it wasn't -

The Devil wore Matt's face. Had his smile - as different as they were. Both loved him with a passion he could never want from anyone else.

It scared him, the thought that maybe he was just losing Matt to the beast inside of him. Matt being unable to stop himself from giving into the blood lust and chaos of his world.

But maybe he just had to accept that the Devil was born into Matt. Was always there beneath the surface. Was there the first day they met. When they confessed their feelings, the first time they kissed and every first - before, after, and in-between. That Foggy had fallen in love with the Devil, him being aware of his existence a meaningless fact.

It was difficult to grasp.

He had to admit he's viewed the Devil and Matt being one in the past. When Foggy didn't want to have to pretend it was someone else fucking him, kissing him. Holding him. Because it wasn't.

It was.

It wasn't.

He jumped when the window opened. Relief flooded him when Matt stepped through with ease. He closed it with a soft click, standing before Foggy with a silence that told him maybe it wasn't Matt in front of him.

The thought caught his breath and he saw the minute movement of Matt's head at it.

“Hi,” Foggy said, unwilling to let there be anymore silence between them.

He knew it was Matt in there. The Devil was only a name. The leather he wore. But with every passing second and the way Matt's fists flexed, the leather squeaking in response, Foggy felt his grasping at straws was useless.

Matt is the Devil. The Devil is Matt.

Foggy could never have one without the other. Had never had one without the other.

“I thought everything was difficult to grasp when I believed it was just a suit. Something you had to do,” Foggy said. He watched Matt. The man not doing anything but breathing.

“But I think I'm starting to understand it. It's not a suit, it's you. There is no separating you. You're the Devil. The Devil is you.

The still silence from Matt makes Foggy's body feel like someone is filling him up with hot air. It all feels so surreal. But Foggy gets the sense that Matt is waiting for something. So Foggy reaches out to him. He can't help but worry Matt won't reach back.

“And I love you both so fucking much.”

The emotionless line of Matt's lips do nothing to ease the beating of Foggy's heart. But when he crosses the distance between them and takes Foggy's hand, the tears in Foggy's eyes are instantaneous. Foggy let's Matt rearrange them. Matt sinking into the couch with a deep exhale and Foggy straddling his thighs. His hands coming to rest on either side of Matt's face.

He peers down into white eyes, the mask still firmly in place. A heat fills Foggy's body as leather-clad hands slowly run up his thighs, squeezing. He thinks about taking the mask off. Of running his fingers through Matt's sweat-slick hair. Kissing his freckles.

But it's him and the Devil right now.

So he captures the Devil's lips in a kiss the man responds to in earnest. It's a hunger Foggy is no stranger to, but Matt has a gift for making everything feel like the first time.

The split lip tasting of blood, the hands on Foggy's thighs rough and demanding and they tug at Foggy's clothing. The growl low in his throat as Foggy moves in his lap.

“Foggy -”

“Yes,” Foggy breathes out, eyes not leaving the Devil's red lips.

“Say it.”

There is now a hand at his neck and Matt's name is on the tip of his tongue. The only name he's ever said aloud to the man. The only name he says in exasperation. The only name he scolds. The only name he praises. The only name to make him laugh. The only name he cries out. But he knows it's not what he wants to hear.

He grasps the wrist of the hand at his neck and presses into it.

“Devil.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> the alternative title is 'like a virgin' swear on my life
> 
> Not beta read.


End file.
